


A Respectable Inn Near Bath, Part 2

by ladyspencer



Category: Friday's Child - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M, First Time, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspencer/pseuds/ladyspencer
Summary: What really happened after everybody returned to town. Cousin Jane Bagshot rears her ugly head for one last time. Sherry is equal to the task of shutting her up, to Hero's great satisfaction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Heyer-with-sex is not easy to write, which is why I wimped out the first time. But this part of the story needed to be told, and here it is. Ferdy and Gil have disappeared from the very end, but they will return eventually in a story of their own, much to everyone's satisfaction.
> 
> Thanks to a good friend, this has actually had a first reading. Still, comments and suggestions are very welcome.

Viscount Sheringham looked about him with satisfaction. It had taken a Herculean effort, but the coffee room and its adjoining private parlor had been cleared of people and of all the debris remaining from the evening’s earlier fracas. Wrotham had been dispatched first, escorting the Incomparable Isabella Milborne--now his betrothed--back to the care of Sherry’s mother in Bath. Sir Montagu Revesby had departed somewhat ignobly in the landlord’s gig, and Lord knew where he would end up. After some careful discussion, the wounded Mr. Tarleton was on his way to Bath in the hired chaise, escorted by Ferdy. Gil would ride back on Mr. Tarleton’s horse, and Mr. Tarleton would rest for one night at the York Hotel--and would be reunited with his pilfered belongings--before returning to his home. Gil had orders to send word to the dowager Lady Sheringham and to Lady Saltash that Lord Sheringham would return with his wife at some unspecified time on the morrow. Sherry’s horses were baited and put away in the stable, and Jason had sought his rest there as well. The only mortal being left behind at the inn, besides Sherry and his Kitten, was the venerable Pug, who continued to snore on the hearth rug.

Sherry bespoke burgundy for himself, ratafia for his wife, and a light supper before tenderly placing his arm around Hero’s shoulder and guiding her to the settle in the parlor. His heart turned over when she reached up and pulled him down for another kiss. He had just sat down beside her when a discreet knock signaled the arrival of their supper. Both of them were famished, and neither said anything for a few minutes as they enjoyed the simple meal.

Sherry finally broke the silence. “What do you say, Kitten? I thought we might spend the night right here. This looks like a respectable inn.”

Hero dimpled. “It is a respectable inn, Sherry. Do you think they will take us in without any baggage?”

“It is indeed a respectable inn. And I’ve laid out a respectable amount of blunt already. I don’t think the landlord will raise any objections. And if he does, we can send all manner of respectable people out here tomorrow to attest to our respectable standing as man and wife.”

Hero smiled, blushed, and looked down at her plate.

“I dashed well don’t want to take you home to my mother tonight,” Sherry went on. “And I’m not sure I care to endure any of Lady Saltash’s attempts at humor. Gil, Ferdy, and Mr. Tarleton are all at the York, and George is at the White Hart.”

“Bath is grown too crowded! This is the safest place by far, then. I don’t want to see any of them.” Hero blushed again.

They lingered over a second glass of wine until a maid tapped on the door with candles and an offer to conduct Lady Sheringham to their rooms. Sherry got to his feet as she stood, then waited patiently for a few minutes before following his wife--his bride--upstairs to their bedchamber. The room boasted a large, old-fashioned bed, the quilt invitingly turned down. A wood fire burned in the fireplace, and the room was lit by several candles.

He found his Kitten standing barefoot on the hearth rug, divested of her gown, reaching behind her back in a vain attempt to undo her laces. He covered the distance between them in two strides, moving behind her, caressing her shoulders and breathing a whisper into her ear, “I can assist you with those, Lady Sheringham.” And when the laces were all undone and the corset had been cast aside, his heart turned over again as she turned in his arms to face him and began working at the buttons on his waistcoat.

He made short work of jacket, waistcoat, cravat, and shoes, though what remained of his wits reminded him to lay the garments carefully over a chair. When he turned back to her and took her in his arms, he found she was trembling, and she hid her face in his shirt front. “What is it, Kitten? What’s amiss?” Her answer, whispered into his chest, was indistinguishable. He took her by the hand and led her to the wide bed, seating himself on the edge and patting the place next to him companionably. She sat, and he gathered her close, feeling her tremble. “Are you frightened, Kitten? Tell me,” he said gently.

“Oh, Sherry!” she began, fighting back a sob. “Cousin Jane--Cousin Jane says that this will be awful for me. Sh-she says that it will hurt dreadfully, and that I should j-just lie back and close my eyes, and th-think of something else. Gentlemen enjoy it, but it-it is the p-price women pay for being married.” Hero’s face was scarlet with embarrassment as she gulped back another sob. “I only want to please you, Sherry.”

“She said that, did she?” Sherry bit back his anger, pulled Hero onto his lap, and began laying a trail of tiny kisses just at the edge of her chemise. For some unaccountable reason, an assertion he had once heard from Flyaway Nancy echoed through his mind, and he seized it before it was lost to him. “It’s all a hum, Kitten. Well, it’s mostly a hum.” He took her chin in his hand and planted a soft, sweet kiss on her lips. “They tell young girls that for two reasons. First of all, it’s to frighten them away from trying any of this before they are safely married.” He paused and kissed the base of her throat. “And secondly, there are plenty of clodpolls around who don’t want to take the trouble to make love to their wives. But I don’t plan to be one of them, Kitten.” He kissed her again, waiting to feel her respond before continuing. “I know we’ve had a bit of a rough go until now. But I won’t be happy until you are happy. It might feel uncomfortable just at first, but we can go as slowly as you wish, and you’ll soon grow to like it very much.”

He followed this by untying the ribbon which closed her chemise, pushing it off her shoulders, and running his finger lightly across a bare nipple until he heard a soft moan. “How does that feel, Kitten?” he whispered.

“It--it makes me want more.”

Can you forget about your Cousin Jane and all her foolishness and trust me?”

“I can trust you, Sherry.” Hero took a deep breath and untied his shirt, standing so she could reach to pull it off over his head. She folded it carefully and laid it aside before returning to trace the muscles of his chest with a touch as light as a butterfly’s, running her finger through the nest of cinnamon curls she found there until she reached the waist of his breeches. His breath caught in his throat.

“Come and sit on my lap.” 

She did not obey him but ran her hand over the intriguing bulge she had encountered under the sober black cloth. She explored its contours with a finger, finally cupping it in her palm as though weighing it. “Sherry,” she said finally. “We must have a care for your shirt and breeches. If they are wrinkled and creased, you won’t--you won’t look respectable tomorrow.” She began slowly to undo the buttons.

“God, Kitten!” Sherry was on his feet in an instant, clasping her hips, pulling her closer. She could feel him, hard against her belly, and she threw her arms about his waist to pull him closer still. He devoured her mouth, leaving it to plant kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her neck.

Hero felt a lovely tingling warmth that seemed to awaken in a nameless spot between her legs, spreading out from there in tantalizing waves. She shivered and threw back her head, hoping Sherry would find more room to lay his enchanting kisses.

“What’s the matter, my love? Too fast for you?”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s just that--it’s just that my knees aren’t holding me up very well. And somehow my--my whole skin wants to be next to yours. I want that above all things.” 

He laughed. “That’s soon mended!” He somehow got rid of breeches and stockings, kicking them aside in a heap. The chemise soon lay at her feet, and as she stepped out of it and kicked it away, he took her in his arms and laid her back on the pillows. Their legs tangled delightfully as his lips searched out one nipple, then the other, flicking at them with his tongue until they stood firm and erect. When he chose one and began to suckle, she laced her fingers through his hair as that scintillating warmth rekindled. Finally, reluctantly, he pulled his head back and looked down at her. Her dark hair was tangled wildly about her face, reminding him of that first wild trip to London. Her gray eyes were enormous in her heart-shaped face as she looked fearlessly back at him. He drew a sharp breath as she reached up and pulled his face down to hers for a scorching kiss that made it quite evident she had been learning from him--and that she was an apt pupil. At the same time her hand found his erection and began to explore it with gentle fingers until Sherry took her by the wrist and said, “Not now, Kitten. Time enough for that later.”

He began to blaze a delicious trail with his lips, planting kisses at the base of her throat, in the gentle valley between her breasts, down and down until he reached the tangled curls at the base of her belly. Hero shivered and gasped with what he now recognized as pleasure. “Do you want to go on?” he asked, teasing the curls with gentle fingers.

Wordlessly, she opened her legs, shivering again as his head dropped and he began kissing that hidden spot that was the source of such delight, his lips and tongue kindling the warmth to heat and then to fire. She laced the fingers of one hand through his hair as the other hand clutched at the sheet, and when he gently parted her and slid first one, then another finger deep within, she arched her back as the fire washed over her in waves of dizziness.

He was almost instantly by her side again, cradling her in his arms, smoothing her hair as he whispered tender, foolish endearments that he had never voiced to anyone but his Kitten. He watched her face as awareness returned to her, and when her eyelids fluttered open, he kissed her and murmured “That was to your liking, Kitten? Shall we continue?”

“Oh, yes,” she said shakily, turning in his arms to face him. She could feel the stubble of his beard with her fingers, and she rubbed her cheek against his, liking the sensation. This time he lay still when her hand found his shaft again and began its gentle exploration. When she reached the tip, her finger encountered a bead of moisture. She brought the finger to her lips, liking the bitter, spicy taste, which enticed Sherry to kiss her ardently. He took her hand and guided it, showing her how to grasp and stroke him in ways that drove him to near distraction.

“What is this called?” she whispered against his lips.

“Eh?” he managed shakily.

She grasped him more firmly. “This. Does it have a name?”

He laughed. “It is called a prick, and you may call it that whenever we are alone in this way.” He began to trace another path of kisses to a breast, and when he found it, he nuzzled and stroked it with his tongue before suckling it again.

“Mmm,” she said, taking his hand and guiding it to that mysterious place between her legs. “And what is this called? I know it must have a name.”

“Little minx! It is your sweet cunny, and I’m growing excessively fond of it.” He parted the velvet folds with his finger, finding her warm and ready. He began to stroke her there, varying his caresses between firm and gentle until she moaned and opened her legs wide. Moving between them, he took her hand and placed it around his prick, showing her how to guide him slowly in. He bit his lip as he watched her face.

For a breathless moment, Hero felt a sharp pain where they were joined. She drew in a breath between her teeth, eyes wide and focused on his face. The sharpness was fleeting, replaced by the now familiar spreading warmth and a lovely fullness. She wanted to feel more, and she tilted her hips up to meet him. With a ragged breath, Sherry cradled her head between his forearms as he moved his own hips to thrust more deeply into her. Each stroke made her long for another, and some instinct caused her to wrap her legs around him as tightly as she could as they moved together. Time stopped until Sherry, finally sensing that his own release was near, reached his hand down to caress her. The sensation of heat became almost unbearable, and as the waves of pleasure overcame her again, she cried out his name in a voice neither of them quite recognized. 

Sherry, feeling her convulse around him, found his own release deep within her, finally collapsing to the coverlet beside her. They clung together in a tangle of arms, legs, and satin skin as breath slowed and senses began to return.

Their deep peace was disturbed by the sound of a log falling in the grate. Sherry became aware that there was a chill in the room, and he disentangled himself reluctantly from Hero and went to stir up the fire. She watched him, admiring his unconscious nakedness and the way the fire gilded his light hair. He snuffed the candles on the mantelpiece, built a nest around her with the sheets and quilts, and slid in beside her, gathering her to him and settling her head comfortably on his shoulder. 

They watched the fire for a few minutes, and then Sherry said, “Was it very bad, Kitten?”

“Not at all,” she replied, raising herself on one elbow so that she could look down at him. “You were right. It only hurt for a moment, and then I grew to like it.” Her dimple appeared. “In fact, I like it very much, just as you said I would.”

Hero snuggled back in his arms, and after a few minutes of quiet, she said, “Sherry, what was the name of that Greek person? The one Ferdy kept talking about, and Mr. Tarleton said it was a lady and not a gentleman? The one that sneaks up behind people.”

Sherry looked at her in mock annoyance. “Are we never to be done with that tiresome Greek? Nemesis. Her name is Nemesis. Daughter of Night, or somesuch. Whatever caused you to think of that?”

She gave a little gurgle of laughter. “I think we need to engage her to follow Cousin Jane around saying, ‘Hero is very happy.’”


End file.
